Echo
by CT230R
Summary: Citizen, Rebel. Follower, Leader. Hero, Villain. Every story has two sides, and this is Marlene's.
1. Stars

_23 April 2015, Late Evening_

The Taurus was parked in the usual spot just beside the rear shutter of the workshop. Its springs were compressed, and its trunk sat low over its tyres.

"Looks like a good run. What do you think he's got this week?"

Nadine looked over expectantly as they walked down the dimly lit alley, but Marlene didn't reply; she was looking over her shoulder yet again.

"Relax, girl," Nadine said, giving her friend a shove. "You're acting like it's your first time."

"Can't be too careful," Marlene muttered, keeping her eyes fixed to their rear even as she stumbled sideways.

"Yeah. _You'd be paranoid too if everyone was out to get you_, right?"

Satisfied that there weren't any other people around, Marlene turned to face the eye-rolling woman. "Says the one who got robbed last week," she grumbled, returning the shove.

"Bah, those assholes got lucky. Back to subject – what do you think he's got?" Nadine dismissed, eager to change the topic.

"_You_ got _careless_", said Marlene, placing particular emphasis on each word as if that would help get it through to Nadine. "And, _you_ almost got caught by that patrol before that. Anyway, I don't care what it is he's got, as long as it isn't that shit he keeps calling 'gin'."

Nadine gave a sheepish grin-shrug as they continued down the alley, which she had given back when Marlene found her during each of those times. The scene had become too much of a norm for her comfort – a series of impatient knocks on her apartment door, and her opening the door to reveal a Nadine with fresh bruises or cuts each time.

They reached the workshop, and she gave the door beside the shutter a few polite knocks. The sound of tools clanging on the floor soon came from within, followed by the stomping of boots and the noise of the door's bolt being unlatched shortly after. The door opened to reveal a stout man with unseemly dark circles beneath his eyes, and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His eyes, narrowed into an expression of deep loathing, flickered with recognition as their faces came into his view. Not that it changed the look on the rest of his face as he swung the door open, and turned to walk back into the workshop.

"Nice to see you too," Nadine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, as they entered with Marlene shutting the door behind. "Working on something?"

The man didn't reply as he went into the storeroom beside the workshop's office, but then he barely ever spoke, anyway. They didn't know his name even after dealing with him for the best part of a year, and he never asked for theirs either.

Still, the generator with its innards lying out in the middle of the workshop answered her question. He'd been a mechanic; he was still one on occasion. But he needed a better means of income than the few customers who called upon his services these days, the main product of which was in his hands as he returned a minute later. He laid it beside the two on the floor, stepping back with his arms folded.

Marlene crouched to look through the cardboard carton, in which twelve glass bottles were divided neatly. She lifted one up – she was immediately pleased to see that it was filled with a dark amber-brown liquid – and unscrewed the cap for a taste.

The fumes hit her right away, but the blow was unexpectedly gentle. Together with the tones of oak was an aftertaste of metal, but that was thankfully overwhelmed by the flavour – swirling the liquid around a little, she could even discern a brief hint of corn through the muddled mess. The mouthful went down very well, all things considered; it was quite good for something distilled in a bathtub.

"Okay. Pretty smooth," she said appraisingly to the waiting Nadine.

The man scoffed and took a drag of his cigarette, as if affronted that she would even have thought otherwise.

"Nice work, I guess," said Nadine, looking up to face him. "How much?"

"Five each."

"_Five_?" She coughed, fanning the smoke from her face. "Since fucking when?"

The man shrugged, and took another drag. "Take it or leave it, blondie," he grunted, with the assured air of a merchant knowing he was holding all the cards in the deal.

And he would be, literally. Nadine looked over in question to Marlene who, after a moment's consideration, gave an assenting tilt of the head. Bit of a rip off, but it _was_ pretty good stuff compared to the glorified paint stripper they'd been getting the past few months.

Not that it mattered much. Hooch was hooch was hooch. Under rationing, luxuries sold out quickly enough in the black markets. Even bootlegged, low-quality moonshine. She had no doubt the whisky would do even better; they'd get seven cards for one easily, if not eight. But Nadine wouldn't be denied.

"Throw in an extra bottle and we've got a deal," she offered, and then added in explanation to the raised eyebrow Marlene was giving her, "for personal reasons."

The man stared at her for a few seconds – during which his expression of loathing deepened considerably – before removing the cigarette from his lips and trudging back into the storeroom. He seemed more irritated by the extra work than the actual math behind the transaction when he returned with the bottle in hand and thrust it towards Nadine, holding out his other hand pointedly.

Marlene stood with the box in her hands as Nadine handed the stack of cards over. Nodding in vague approval after counting the cards, and giving a last grunt that seemed to say both _'thank you for the business'_ and _'now get the fuck out of my workshop'_, he walked over to the exit.

"You shouldn't," he said, as he opened the door.

That was rare, an utterance that wasn't strictly business from the guy. "Shouldn't what?" asked Nadine.

"Drink."

"Oh. Right…well, you shouldn't either."

"What?"

"Smoke so much," said Nadine. "It's bad for you."

"Scram," he grumbled.

The ladies shared a grin as the door shut brusquely behind them. It went well (sort of), but that was the easy part. Now they had to get back to their apartment building, and that involved crossing a part of the city at a time of the day where no one really should be. Even before everything, and certainly after the curfews.

They kept to the shadows of the buildings as they walked, choosing alleys over sidewalks where they could; the lack of lit streetlamps and the young moon that night helped. Where streets had to be crossed, Nadine would go first, crouching low and moving quickly, followed by a pause after which Marlene would follow with the carton in hand. But in the midst of one crossing they caught sight of headlights turning the corner, and they scrambled to duck behind a dumpster.

"Fuck…" whispered Nadine, in between gasps of air, as they barely missed being illuminated in the darkness. "That was close."

If they were caught out after curfew by the night patrols, the penalties would be severe. And it wouldn't be any easier if they tried to run after being spotted; the soldiers would sooner start shooting at them than try to arrest them, as Nadine found out on previous, poorly conducted excursions. Still, Marlene couldn't blame them for it; she would probably do the same if she saw movements in the shadows.

Even as they ran through them, her eyes were constantly darting to the darkest corners as they passed.

For it weren't robbers or smugglers that worried the garrison of the Wilmington Quarantine Zone. Not for the most part; civilians, even those on the wrong side of the law, knew better after a solid year of martial law than to cross the military or members of the Federal Disaster Response Agency. It was increasingly difficult to tell the difference between the two beyond their uniforms; whether it was the mottled grey of the former, or the smooth blue of the latter, their purpose and techniques seemed to be the same. Order and security, at all costs. And despite how well they'd achieved that – on both counts – infected were still prone to showing up now and again, and people were still getting infected.

In any case, the ladies knew the route well, and any hostiles were cooperatively absent that night. They made good time, and arrived at their apartment building unspotted and unscathed.

Unexhausted, not so much. It didn't help that the elevators had gone out of service because of the power cuts. Not that it would be entirely safe to ride them with the complete lack of maintenance they'd received for close to two years. Beside her, Nadine was making an absolute show of panting and heaving as they grunted up the steps to her floor, and sweat had darkened her shirt by several shades.

"You're carrying…next time," Marlene complained as they finally reached her front door. Shoving the carton at Nadine, she managed to gasp out a last instruction, "Store it properly, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Nadine replied breathlessly, taking the box after mopping the sweat off her forehead. "See you on the roof in a bit?" she continued, dangling the extra bottle invitingly.

Marlene nodded her reply, finding words to be too much of a hassle right that minute, and sighed as she collapsed onto the couch in the virtually bare living room in her decrepit home.

It'd never been the Ritz before all of this of course, but it'd only gotten worse since. Nice Things had been traded away for Essential Things; a prized family vase swapped for a carton of canned soup; her collection of Savage Starlight figurines, which she'd so painstakingly built up during her teenage years and had once been displayed proudly over the desk in her room, bartered for a portable stove and a couple of gas refills, for example.

It wasn't that she rued either of those trades – part of her was still sneering at the fools on the other end of them – but almost everything that had made that home a home had gone, stripped away from it like flesh off bone, with only the skeleton remaining.

Marlene stood, having brought her heart rate back to somewhere below cardiac arrest, and walked to the kitchen sink to fill a glass of water from the tap. It was agreeably cool – that boded well for the drinking session later, as it refreshed her throat. She glanced around the apartment. The lights weren't on except for the doorway light she'd switched on upon entering.

She placed the glass down and left, deciding she'd rather head up to the roof first and wait for Nadine there, than the alternative.

* * *

><p>The gentle night breeze coming off the Delaware River was agreeably cool, as expected, and Marlene leaned back on her arms as she observed the cityscape before them.<p>

Off in the distance on both sides were I-95 and I-495, the two interstates that cradled most of the city like a sort of Tigris and Euphrates. Marlene loved the analogy; it was especially ironic considering what the would-be Mesopotamia in the middle was actually like. Then again, she couldn't but wonder what had become of the actual Mesopotamia – the analogy might've actually been apt, making it doubly ironic.

Closer to the building were the industrial districts of the city, which they'd cut through earlier that evening; a dark sea with the occasional buoys and lighthouses of streetlamps at major intersections, and just a few moving lights of the night patrols. Closer still was the dust bowl of the rail yard just two blocks away, and even in the dim light she could see the locomotives, empty carriages and stock cars decaying in the field. She could even see an Acela Express, which would've once streaked through the city, a silver-and-blue bullet ferrying people up and down to the metropolises of the eastern seaboard. Businesspeople on their way to Wall Street, politicians on their way to D.C, students on their way to another term at university, families and friends on vacations; all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons.

And there it sat with a thick layer of dust covered over the windows of its carriages, the grime of weather clustered around its bogies, and rust forming on the folded metal arms of its pantograph. Not that it mattered, nor that it would matter again; the catenaries above were dead, anyway.

"Man…that's really…_good_," said Nadine beside her, smacking her lips and passing the bottle over shakily.

Marlene saw that half of it had already gone, and that was probably enough for the night. For both of them. A hiccup worked its way up her throat, drawing a loud guffaw from Nadine that turned into a squeak of protest as it drew her a smack on the head.

"Look at it, Nade," said Marlene, shaking her wrist and gesturing at the snaking tracks before them.

Her friend did as she told, swiveling her head forward.

"Hmm?"

"Remember what this place used to be like? So busy and noisy, all the time. The clickety-clack of the damned trains on the tracks."

"Mmm," Nadine slurred, bowing her head down in what was could've been a nod.

"And look at I-95. Used to be moving lights, any time of the night," continued Marlene, gesturing at the interstate, empty but for the odd abandoned vehicle on the shoulder. Already creepers had started growing over the white concrete barriers.

"Mmm-hmm," Nadine continued nodding vaguely – the lights were on, but the occupants had left the building – she probably wasn't following what Marlene was getting at.

"Even the rest of the city, right?" said Marlene, pointing in the distance past the highway.

Few streetlights were left on in the other districts as well, and certainly no billboards, nor the signboards of the business district. In place of the traditional night-glow with its hints of blue, white, and red, was a stark darkness, freckled only by the occasional yellow.

"If that's all we're gonna get, all we have to look forward to–" Marlene felt her throat run dry, and semiconsciously took another swig, wincing a little as the fumes ran through her, "–how is this even surviving?" she finished softly.

Nadine gave a burp beside her, followed by a puppy-dog grin when that earned a venomous glare from Marlene. Reaching over to put her hand on her friend's shoulder, she started tipsily, and pointed a finger above them.

"Lookit, Lil' Miss Back-in-the-day…"

Marlene followed the path of the finger and looked up to see the glimmering stars in the night sky. It was curious, she found as she moved her gaze down to the city and back up again, that they seemed almost reflections of each other.

"I don't remember being able to see those…b-before. All thish," Nadine finished, rounding off with another burp.

Marlene could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. Yeah, the blonde definitely had enough for the night. Because this friend of hers – she was using the term loosely right that minute, especially if she heaved on her next – which she'd known since high school, as much as anyone else, should've known what she was getting at. Especially with everything she'd lost up till then.

"Lookit the b-e-a-utiful stars, Marley…"

But the woman was nothing if not a happy drunk; the glass was always half full for her, as long as there was whisky in it. Deciding she was a lost cause, Marlene removed the blonde's arm gently and pulled her up, whilst holding the bottle in her other hand.

"Time for bed, you," she said, as they walked in each other's arms down the stairs, together to Nadine's apartment where she dropped both her and the bottle off, to the woman's reluctant protests ("Aww…don't leave me, Marley"). She would be fine, even on her own, even if Marlene definitely didn't want to be her in the morning.

Her mind was numb, but not quite enough when she reached the door of her flat. She'd been hoping to come home to find her already asleep, but the light seeping through the bottom into the dark corridor told her it'd been in vain. Marlene braced her hand against the frame of the door for a few seconds before unlocking it and twisting it open.

She'd barely stepped into the doorway when the voice greeted her.

"Look at the time, Marlene."

Her mind was numb, and her limbs were heavy. She did _not_ have the energy for their usual skirmish, and especially at the hour.

"Out with that Davies girl again, I take it."

Marlene ran her palm over her face, and kept her tone as even as she could as she replied, leaning against the dining table between them.

"I can handle myself, mom. I'm twenty-two already…"

"It's not the drinking I'm worried most about," she said, standing up from the couch where she'd been sitting.

Marlene felt her thin attempt at patience ebb away at the unnecessary jibe at her close friend. "What then?" she snapped.

"It's whatever it is you two are doing out there," the older woman continued, calmly. "I don't ask and you don't tell, but I'm not stupid. FEDRA doesn't give out ration cards that easily."

"I don't hear you complaining when you take them, and you wouldn't have to if they gave enough of those down at the factory–"

"It wouldn't hurt if you showed up once in a while," her mother interrupted. "You don't know the trouble I've got getting the supervisors to look the other way."

"Yeah, and you come home half dead every night, and for what? _Two_ measly cards a _week?_ What I'm doing–" Marlene thumped her palm on the dining table, "–is keeping us alive, mom!"

Her mother didn't reply to the outburst, and instead stared into Marlene's eyes. After a minute, her gaze softened, and she walked past her into the kitchen, returning shortly after with a glass of water and two slices of bread which she laid onto the table.

"Get something in you before going to bed," she said, giving a yawn which she silenced with her hand. "You'll thank me in the morning."

Only the lower half of her face was lit by the light above it, and somehow the lines beneath her eyes, around her nose and mouth, seemed deeper to Marlene than they had ever been. It only just occurred to Marlene that her mother might have been staying up just so she knew that she'd got home safely, and part of her wanted to say something right, and another part of her wanted to do something right – give the old woman a hug, perhaps.

A response, anything, to assuage the guilt punching her gut that minute.

But the woman had already walked into her room, and all that was left for Marlene to do was to sit down at the table to the supper.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Beta'd by the too-awesome-for-words APAccidentalAccount. Thank you for reading, as always. To be continued!  
><strong>


	2. Rattles

_24 April 2015, Dusk_

The man was a spitting image of the actor, a dead ringer for a dead man. Wrinkles and creases lined his dirt-stained face which bore the coarse features of a workman, but they were underpinned by a curious poise to his bearing even if his head was bowed and his eyes lowered. He especially looked the part in his off-white overalls, with the straps of his collar hanging limply open; all he would've needed were red and blue stripes down the front of his outfit and he wouldn't have looked out of place on the set of _Le Mans._ In a different time, and definitely in a different place, it wouldn't be hard to imagine him actually being one.

It only occurred to Marlene, a lazy thought coming from the leaden lump that was her mind, that she probably should've _said_ something instead of merely observing Nadine walk into him. She might've been watching his approach vaguely, but Nadine's gaze had been firmly fixed on counting the ration cards in her hands.

Which scattered onto the pavement as their shoulders bumped, and the chain link fence beside them rattled as the man stumbled against it, barely managing to right himself by grasping at the wires for support.

"Hey!" yelled Nadine, only managing to break her fall in time by grasping at Marlene's arms. "Fucking watch it!"

The man glared at Nadine, affronted by her gall. "The hell's _your_ problem, missy? You're the one that walked into me!" he yelled back.

"No problem here, buddy," began Nadine, easing the tone of her voice to a faux-easygoing manner as she smoothed out the rumples in her pale blue shirt. Then she added, rolling her neck and reaching a hand into the pocket of her jeans with deliberation, "Unless you want one."

Marlene watched in stony silence as the man stood at arm's length from them, looking like he was considering his options for a moment. Her thoughts were mostly with the cards still laying on the pavement, which would definitely blow away if a gust showed up that moment, but she had a bit of sympathy for the ruggedly handsome fella. It _was_ Nadine that walked into him after all, she reasoned, even as she assumed a hard look on her face to match the glower of Nadine and similarly moved her hand pointedly towards her back pocket, making it clear to the man that he would do well to let it pass. And let them pass. Two on one, even if it was closer to one and a half on one considering how diminutive her friend was, were poor odds.

It seemed the man thought the same as he settled for flicking a finger at the women before walking away, and Nadine's eyes narrowed as she did likewise. Futilely though; the man's back was already turned.

"Fuck," sighed Marlene, as she crouched to pick the cards up.

"What?"

"Wish I didn't forget my blade," she said tersely, feeling furious for leaving it behind in the rush to get going in the morning. And though it was mild, they'd come pretty close to needing it just then.

Nadine huffed through her nose. "Doesn't matter. I've got mine," she said in a clipped tone, patting her pocket.

Exasperation coursed through Marlene when she saw that Nadine was still looking like she wasn't finished with the guy. "Why don't you leave counting these until later?" she said, as she handed the cards back.

"Goddamn Steve McQueen looking motherfucker," the scowling woman muttered, pocketing the cards.

"Let's just go," said Marlene, moving her friend along with a forceful tug of the arm.

They hadn't far left to go, but the gradual darkening of the red-orange tint on the warehouses' white corrugated metal sidings told them it was getting close to curfew. Those warehouses around the docks were a couple of blocks further away from the factories of the industrial district where they'd picked up the liquor last night, and in amongst them was a back street lying between two blocks where, common knowledge among the residents of Wilmington, one could trade for supplies. Food, clothes, and everything in between one would need to fill the gaps between the ration lines.

A black market, in short. Perhaps ironically, ration cards were the preferred medium of exchange there in place of simple barter, but it wasn't rare to see citizens with the occasional knick-knack in hand – Marlene and her figurines all those months back, for example – looking to trade them for whatever value they still had. And it was all quite subjective; to the right customer something like five to ten paperbacks, or an entire collection of Savage Starlight comics, could be swapped for a utility knife.

Which Marlene did of course, and the memory did nothing for her mood. Short fuses all round that evening, but there wasn't really anyone to blame for the kerfuffle with the man.

He had probably just got off a grueling shift and wanted nothing more than to get home. His overalls were that of those who worked on the Outside. The jobs varied; agriculture was the most common – there were no farms within the zone limits – but they were just as easily deployed in construction, and there'd been increasingly more of those since the coup. His overalls may have been off-white, but his collar was definitely blue. And what did he earn for the thankless task? Double what most people, like her mother, got for Inside work. It evidently justified the risk for the man, but FEDRA could've been paying quadruple the amount and Marlene still wouldn't have blinked. She and Nadine could earn the same in a day after all.

Usually, that was. The bottles in their backpacks kept up their rattling taunt as they continued walking; Nadine had managed to push out two of them, but Marlene hadn't managed as well. About two less well, for a whole afternoon's work. It'd been an undeniably slow day, and Nadine had already been pissed off all morning to begin with. Over what, Marlene didn't know exactly; she hadn't blamed her for waking up late, and she would've thought her hangover would've subsided by now. Either way, the poor business didn't help.

Nadine massaged her temples as they walked, and the scowl on her face deepened. "We need to rethink the price of those things," she said, pointing a thumb at her backpack.

Eight was a really fair price. The seven they had to resort to by late afternoon was an even better deal, and even then it was only through some marvellous salesmanship that Nadine had managed to shift those two bottles.

"Six?" suggested Marlene.

"Six," repeated Nadine, not bothering to hide the ridicule in her voice.

Marlene fought the urge to reply in the same tone. "Can't go any lower than five," she said factually.

"Sure it can. All the way down to fucking zilch," Nadine spat bitterly, shoving the cards into her pocket as she finally finished with her stock take. It'd taken longer than it should have; they only had the fourteen to split between them. "Stupid cards are worthless, if you ask me."

Marlene thought about her words for a few yards. Those cards were how they earned their rations; why they were there right that moment. Those cards were why that man was risking working outside the city limits, and those cards why her mother worked fourteen-hour shifts at the factory each day.

She failed to see Nadine's point completely. "What the hell are you going on about?" she asked, her genuine curiosity tinged by the impatience of fatigue.

"You work all day; you bust your balls all week to earn the things. Then _they_ say, without any warning, that it's gonna be half-rations until who knows when."

"Bah, so we fucked up…"

That it would be a slow day had already been obvious that morning at the distribution centre which was set up in, of all places, their old high school. They'd woken up late, thinking they'd missed the queue, but the snaking line leading out from the canteen into the corridors told otherwise. The distribution had been late, and that was only the first of two pieces of bad news the residents of Wilmington received that day - double the cards were now needed for the same allocation of food just a week earlier.

"Fine, _I_ fucked up," Marlene corrected, seeing that Nadine's scowl was now aimed squarely at her. "Bad idea to spend most of our stash at one go."

"It's not that…" said Nadine. The unnecessary revision softened her scowl, but also added to the frustration in her voice. "It's just how they don't care."

"This your first day in a quarantine zone, miss?"

"Not that they have to, I guess. But it just gets tiring, man," continued Nadine, swatting aside Marlene's mocking interlude. "Work harder or starve, it's your choice. Not like you can exchange those cards anywhere else."

It was true; come down to it, those cards were only ultimately worth what rations FEDRA deigned to pay out. And what choice did anyone have about it? Whether it was her mom and that man, or any of the traders in the alley, it all boiled down to the two choices Nadine laid out. A rumour had been floating around that it was also to shut the black market down, but Marlene doubted it; FEDRA just needed to send their regiments in if they really wanted to. The short of it was that the agency had, by choice or otherwise, simply made _those cards_ more expensive. And thus everything those cards were good for. People now had to work twice as hard to earn them, and what meagre accruals they'd scrimped up were instantly eroded in half, leaving little room for luxuries in the immediate future.

Which was more relevant for the two women. They'd taken a gamble on the bottles yesterday, and already it'd paid off badly. What use was having the moonshine to sell there if there weren't customers around to afford them? They could drink themselves merry as they starved.

"It's something like that 'price of money' horseshit, right?" continued Nadine, echoing Marlene's thoughts, the note of derision in her voice indicating her dislike of the subject. "Fucking FEDRA…"

Marlene snorted a laugh – what knowledge of economics she had came from the one module in freshman year at college, but ol' Prof McGovern would probably have had something to say about the art major's half-baked assessment of FEDRA's policy. Also, it was an unusually weighty line of thought, coming from her friend.

_"That's_ what that's been eating you all day?"

A ghost of a smile formed on Nadine's lips as she massaged her temples again. "You're the one who started this shit last night. I actually listen, you know," she said, tossing her hair haughtily and finally starting to resemble the woman Marlene knew well. "And I'm not drinking again, ever…" she groaned.

The conversation died down as the checkpoint came into sight at last, but it was better to keep mostly quiet around those places, at any rate.

It wasn't difficult to tell the new buildings from the old ones in the zone. Not only through obvious signs like freshly whitewashed walls with the dust of dried paint gathering at the bottom like baby powder, or even the blue tattoos of FEDRA's roundel over those walls. Even in their decaying shape there was mostly a warmth to buildings built from Before, manifested in soft features like the odd bench or two outside them, planter boxes and other niceties, all of which were absent from FEDRA's architecture. Nowhere was the contrast more apparent than at the checkpoints where concrete jersey barriers funneled vehicles and people alike – no amenities there, not even for the sentry manning the gate, whose flecked fatigues contrasted against the blue of his FEDRA comrade, who Marlene saw was a sergeant from the stripes on his epaulettes.

"IDs," said the sergeant simply, placing a hand out for the proof that the women belonged to the district they were entering. Marlene's eyes ran over to the fence beside as she handed the papers over, where off in the distance on the other side was the still uncompleted wall that FEDRA had been building over the past few months.

A _necessary_ thing, she thought sardonically, thinking of the broadcast from a year ago. The clicking and flashing of cameras had been the only accompaniment to the deferential silence of reporters, who would've otherwise been shouting a barrage of questions if it'd been the spokesperson of a civilian administration up there on the rostrum. "_…With the bureaucrats out of power we can finally take the necessary steps to protect our way of life…_" the official said to the nation in a broadcast on both television and radio, with armed soldiers lined up on both sides of the briefing room. All with fingers held over the triggers of their rifles; suggesting some excellent training on trigger discipline no doubt, but also equally that they definitely had bullets loaded inside those magazines. All within the frame for the broadcast – that had been part of the message, and FEDRA did messages very well.

As much as any practical uses the wall would have, it was also already a monument to the agency's rule. It wasn't for nothing that the no-man's land separated by the fence was _inside_ the wall, after all. FEDRA wasn't military by itself, even if the two branches worked closely during the initial outbreak. And while most of the military folded under their wing, there'd been a fair few who resisted. Leading the way, not for self but for country, and always faithful, even as bullets tore through their bodies. That went on for a while, until it seemed that most of them had given up. That or they all died…

"Fifteen minutes 'til curfew," the sergeant said, returning the IDs.

"Gonna head straight home, sir," explained Marlene.

She received a curt nod in reply. The soubriquet wasn't strictly necessary from civilians, but it was a helpful lubricant at those checkpoints. Didn't take much to say it, and one didn't even need to be sincerely respectful. Even so, Nadine's eyes were rolling as they passed through the gate, her lips mouthing the word silently, curling in disgust as if Marlene had uttered an expletive.

They really didn't have far left to go. Just two more blocks, in fact. They were so close to reaching home after a hard day's work, made all the more so because they had nothing to show for it.

They were tired and distracted, but they really should've noticed the man behind them, who was keeping a distance away – and that the distance remained constant as they turned the corners through the streets. Also that the other man across the street seemed to be keeping pace with him, almost.

In fairness, why should they have? They were no different from any of the other denizens of the district; clad in tattered, long-unwashed tops and jeans that would've once been fashionably ripped but were now in desperate need of replacing. It was urban camouflage of the finest quality; they blended into the decaying city, hungry chameleons amongst rotting leaves. They hadn't even noticed them yet even when a third stepped in front of them as they cut through an alleyway.

"Let's just hold up a moment there, ladies," began the man.

His oddly polite manner was a stunning contrast to his bedraggled appearance and bloodshot eyes, which suggested that he'd spent at least all afternoon, if not all day, imbibing beverages not unlike those they had in their backpacks. Something about him – the metal pipe that he was tapping lazily in his hands, for one – suggested that he probably wasn't used to having to pay for his habit, nor that this was some sort of social call. The footsteps of his colleagues bringing up the rear came into earshot, and it was only then that Marlene had the first notion that they were in an ambush. The shortcut was necessary to make time in view of the impending curfew, but that was the least of their worries now.

"We're clear, no patrols about," said one of them, addressing no one in particular.

The head asshole looked pleased as the three of them closed in, forming a semi circle that neatly surrounded the two women, all the while tapping his metal pipe meaningfully.

"What you got in those packs?" he asked.

There was little doubt in Marlene's mind that he genuinely needed an answer to the question. A reply of 'none of your business' was already working its way to her lips, but a skittish Nadine drew out her switchblade right then – causing the bottles in her pack to rattle inconveniently, drawing a smirk from the robbers who'd found their answer.

"Back the fuck off," Nadine warned fiercely. Or as best she could manage, with the tiny quiver in her voice betraying what she had done so well in concealing up to the point.

She was as rattled as those bottles, understandably so given her experience with these situations. Certainly the assholes didn't miss it; the switchblade was a fiercely utilitarian thing furnished with plain wood and little else by way of ornamentation, and even though its business end was pointed right at them, Nadine might as well have been pointing a toothpick for all the good it did.

Before Nadine could swing her blade one of the robbers rushed forward, pinning her arm out and away from the both of them. Thrown off balance, she struggled feebly and staggered as she was pushed backwards. With momentum on his side, the man swung his knee towards her abdomen. Her knees buckled as it connected, which was followed quickly by a sharp yell of agony as he moved behind her, grabbing and twisting her arm as he did. Her fingers loosened as he tightened his grip around her wrist, and her switchblade fell and clanked gently onto the ground.

Marlene would've intervened, were it not for the second robber who did pretty much the same thing simultaneously, sans blade from her. She would've yelled as Nadine did, but she didn't even have the time for that as the asshole put his hand to the back of her head, shoving her down onto the ground. Each mouthful of air Marlene was struggling to gasp in was permeated by the stench of alley; the asshole was pinning her down on her belly, with her face hard against the dirty tarmac. He brought down his face till it was inches away from hers, and she flinched from the heavy odour of tobacco - or whatever the heck it was - wafting at her.

"Down, motherfucker," he sneered. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Marlene tried struggling, but he was right – it was pointless. Three on one-point-five were shit odds, and it showed. The takedown was clinically executed, and there was little else she could do but try to catch her breath as the man removed the pack off her back. But the weight of the man on her back eased slightly, it seemed his attention was drawn towards Nadine. Who clearly didn't receive the memo – she was struggling with every ounce she had, it seemed, reaching her arm out desperately for her switchblade which lay inches away from her.

"Get...the fuck...off -" she grunted.

"Little help over here, boss!" yelled the robber on her back, his hands full keeping her pinned down.

The head asshole looked almost irritated as he stepped over. He kicked the switchblade away from Nadine, and held his pipe up at the ready. Marlene had to wince at the sound of metal thudding against denim, covered over only slightly by Nadine's shrieks. And even then the woman kept struggling; she managed to work her hand loose, which she connected against the face of the man on her back. Down went the pipe again, this time broadly in the region of Nadine's ribs, drawing out an even sharper cry.

Anger clouded the face of the robber whom Nadine had clouted, and Marlene watched as he crawled over to pick up Nadine's switchblade. She resumed struggling against the asshole on _her_ back, but that earned her a sharp twist of the arm and a further shove of her head on the ground. Her eyes cringed on instinct, and so she didn't see what happened after.

She damn well heard Nadine's scream, though. Fighting to open her eyes against the force holding her head down, she saw a deepening patch formed near the side of Nadine's stomach, a cloud of red against the pale blue of her shirt.

"You…fucking…cowards!"

The robber on her back gave a scoff before spitting on her face. "What we got, boss?" he asked, raising a hand to wipe his mouth.

Boss-asshole already had both packs in hand, and he seemed mightily pleased at their haul as he dangled them in the air, the rattling of bottles probably seeming like the jingles of a fruit machine hitting the jackpot to him. He was in the midst of opening his mouth to reply when a groaning from further down the alley caught everybody's attention.

It was difficult to make out the shapes, silhouetted against what little of the fading sunlight there was in that alley, but it really wasn't all that difficult. Those things were human; certainly they walked on two legs like humans. Only that they didn't; they staggered and limped, groaning as they did. As if two parts of their mind were fighting against each other, as if they were in pain. Even the run they broke into upon catching sight of the women and robbers was unbalanced and inelegant. Those things _were_ human, but none of them needed to actually see the things to know what they were – and further proof came, as if it were needed, when their groans turned to sickly, blood-curdling shrieks.

"INFECTED!" yelled the robber on Marlene's back, quite redundantly, and very foolishly.

But it was well that he did – it drew them away from a relatively quiet Marlene who felt the weight lift off her back at last. The infected headed straight after the three robbers, and Marlene staggered to her feet, feeling a slight pang of regret for the packs that were still in boss-asshole's hands as he hightailed it out of the alley with his comrades following closely. But Marlene didn't have long to brood over those. One straggler had remained, and it was headed straight for the softly moaning Nadine, still clutching at the wound on her side. Marlene wasn't thinking as she watched the thing stagger towards Nadine. She couldn't think, didn't have time to think.

She only had one thing in mind, and that was to reach the switchblade, and Nadine, before that thing did.

Adrenaline does strange things for a person, and it did for Marlene then. There was no wasted movement to her actions; each step seemed to have been choreographed as she watched her fingers close around the wood handle of the switchblade and lift it up. Even her turn was the efficient one of an athlete; she'd stepped off even as she was still completing the swivel. And it was well that she did – Nadine was already pinning an arm against the infected when Marlene's foot connected against it, driving it away from her friend, and blood spurted across her shirt as she drove the blade into the back of its head.

Adrenaline also does strange things _to_ a person. The infected had been a woman before; its shoulder-length brunette hair was pulled back by a bandanna. Even with the stalks of fungus sprouting around the edges of its nose and eyes and the bloodied veins around them, it would've probably been considered pretty before, Marlene found herself noting morbidly, even as she drove the blade into its head again, this time finding its eyes.

And again, again, and yet again, until it stopped moving. Finally Marlene released the infected, letting it slump onto the ground. She didn't realize she was breathing quite as heavily as she was, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to lie down on the ground and sleep for a while. Until she remembered Nadine, who was still bleeding just beside her. Who'd been fighting off the infected just before she reached it…

The adrenaline that'd just been beginning to ebb away kicked through Marlene's veins again as she scrambled to her feet, stumbling over to Nadine. She ran her palms across her friend's arms, then her neck, and then over her clothes, all the while looking desperately with her eyes for that which she didn't want to see. Nadine seemed to know what she was doing; while it may've been more a function of her having been stabbed in the gut, she was remarkably still throughout the process.

But there were none. No bites.

"Fuck..." groaned the blonde. "First time's free. Now get your paws off me…"

Despite herself, Marlene felt a grin form on her face, a grin that found itself reflected in Nadine's face. Leave it to Nadine make a wisecrack even as she lay bleeding on the ground, but it changed nothing about the situation as her eyes took stock of it.

"Okay…" she began.

She was saying it even if the sight before her plainly wasn't. A dead infected lay at her feet, and just beside it, a near-dead, but at least not-infected, woman with blood pooling at her abdomen.

"Okay, we gotta get you to the hospital."

"N-not there," Nadine said, grimacing as she tried to sit up. "They'll think I've been bit…"

"They won't, for fuck's sake."

"Lookit, Marley. Just -"

"It'll be fine. Let's go," said Marlene, cutting across Nadine and making to pick her up off the ground.

"NO!" yelled Nadine, an outburst that seemed to drain all remaining energy out of her. Her strength faded as she grasped at Marlene's arm, voice trailing off even as she stared her dead in the eyes. "Look…Not. Fucking. There…"

Nadine then slipped out of consciousness, falling limp in Marlene's arms, making it difficult to move her. From the street came the sound of a humvee coming to a halt, followed shortly by indistinguishable shouting, and then the sound of automatic gunfire. Probably a patrol had run across the robbers and infected. Marlene felt a prick of pity for the assholes; FEDRA didn't bother much with friend-or-foe in those situations. Human or Infected. Crucially however, it meant that they needed to get out of that alley. Quickly. And without being seen.

She noticed that she was still holding onto Nadine's switchblade, for some reason. It was stained with the blood of the infected – she gave it a thorough wipe against the dead thing's clothes before retracting the blade and stowing it away, and wrapped Nadine's arm around her shoulder.

"Fucking hell, Nade," grunted Marlene, heaving as she struggled to get to her feet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Didn't even realize it was a cliffhanger until PA told me :p Thanks all for the faves, follows, reviews, and of course (and never least), thanks for reading! See you in the next chapter!**


	3. Apparel

_29 April 2015, Afternoon_

Marlene's insides stewed like a pack of boil-in-bag rice. Stopping briefly to fan herself, she was startled by a sudden shout from the platform above her.

"Pick up the pace, people!"

Marlene sighed. Dawson needed to calm his tits, but that would've been asking too much of the supervisor up on his perch. A short, thin man who perpetually looked as if he'd just sat down on a cactus even as he stood outside his office – little more than a rusting shipping container braced on struts to raise it above the floor. Bright lights hung around it from the trusses of the ceiling, necessary to illuminate the inside of the factory that would have otherwise been poorly served by the few windows lining the walls.

Those few windows also made the factory about as well ventilated as a furnace. Summer had yet to arrive with gusto but it was already stifling, regardless. Marlene resumed pushing her trolley and hoped whomever that decided they had to wear those suits would have children born with no assholes.

Including Supervisor Dawson, who was now clapping his hands impatiently, adding a bit of percussion to go along with his squeaky, a cappella encouragement. It was a wonder that he could see anything through the thick glasses that shielded his narrow eyes, but he could and he did. Not that he had much effect; lethargy was the order of the day, with most of the workers moping about the concrete floor, looking not unlike a video playing in slow motion. The momentary bursts of quickened pace after each of Dawson's exhortations seemed to stem more from a desire to shut him up than from any actual industry, as they slowed again after a few minutes.

Or half a minute, as Marlene felt her legs slow after a few paces again. But it wasn't as if she was doing it on purpose; it felt like there were sandbags strapped around her calves as she trudged forward with each step. Sandbags filled with bricks, to be specific. The load she was pushing wasn't a help, and even her trolley's castors were groaning at the weight. What once would've been a forklift's job was now done through sweat and sinew, with manual labour taking the place of machines in a curious reversal of what'd been going on in that factory, and others like it all through the district, for several decades.

It made the going much slower, it made little sense in view of how few of them there were in the place, and FEDRA could not care less. All that mattered for them was that each ration card they paid out was well paid for in return by each worker's toil, and then some. That was enforced by supervisors like Dawson, human closed-circuit cameras keeping wary watch on their behalf, scanning the floor with their heads swiveling at regular, almost mechanical intervals. Neither civilian nor military, the type inspired a special kind of loathing from most people in the QZ in addition to the usual dislike that wearing FEDRA-blue inspired.

"That means you too, Dandridge!" he yelled, his magnified gaze now fixed firmly in the direction of Marlene.

And of course, from those who had to work under them. But it was, Marlene mused bitterly, exactly as Nadine had put it: _"Work harder or starve, it's your choice."_ Mopping her forehead, she swallowed down the retorts welling up her throat and quickened her pushing through the lines.

Lines, even if few of them were still running. The old worktables still filled out the factory floor even their surfaces had mostly had been cleared of all equipment, save for a couple. Specialized tools that had necessarily remained, those machines were a jumble of acronyms and alien terms; _SNLS, 3TH O/L, SNCS, flatlock, bartack_...Marlene had little idea what each meant, except that they all had something to do with the manufacture of garments.

Garments, such as the yellow coveralls on Marlene's back; workers' boilersuits for FEDRA's labour, manufactured in the various colours that would designate their wearer's jobs, all sharing the same basic consistency that was not unlike burlap, and the hessian-esque material also provided as much comfort for the wearer.

The head of the line gave Marlene a commiserating smile as the trolley inched up beside the end of her worktable. Her face was also mottled with sweat – she was suffering the same in her own yellow suit, which also designated her real status in a position earned through dint of experience, but which provided little addition by way of pay or benefit.

"Don't worry," she muttered, as she began loading yet more piles of shirts, freshly-made, neatly folded and bound together, onto Marlene's already heaving trolley. "He always picks on the new guys."

Head bowed, shoulders slumped, and leaning over her trolley for a small breather, Marlene could only nod her reply as she watched the bundles land. If she hadn't despised those outfits before, she sure as well did now. Bereft of all insignia and motifs at this stage, they were inoffensive enough with only the beige labels beneath their collars providing sparse information on their size and the factory of origin. However their blue shade and crisp cut was immediately recognizable to any citizen of the QZ; besides those vile boiler suits, the factory also made those most hateful of things – FEDRA uniforms.

Struck by a desire to get the process over with, Marlene stepped away with a small spurt of energy, and began helping with loading up the trolley. That earned her an approving nod from the older woman, who no doubt misinterpreted her action as some kind of commendable work ethic.

But that was understandable; the Head had been a diligent woman even from Before; hardworking, responsible, and never complaining – a supervisor's dream. But then she probably had to be, to have single-handedly raised a child, from when the kid had just barely entered first grade.

Marlene was just about done with loading up the bundles of shirts when the squeak of an opening cap came from beside her, and looking over, she saw that the older woman was holding out a green canteen towards her.

"Have some before you continue," she said.

Marlene took the welcome reprieve in her hands, and shut her eyes as she lifted the bottle to her lips – the lights above were blinding, and beads of sweat were still trailing down her brow as she tilted her head back. Tepidity filled her mouth, and her parched tongue was more disgusted than quenched by the musty liquid of dubious purity. The canteen was a far cry from those bottles of moonshine, but there might as well have been whisky in it as she drank gratefully.

"Thanks, mom," she said, hoping her words conveyed the smile that she was unable to, as she returned the bottle.

It probably did, for her mother gave one briefly in return before stepping back towards her station, eyebrows knitting in concentration. Her job was serious business, not least because FEDRA didn't just let anyone do it. Marlene couldn't see any reason why anyone would want to be, but it'd taken a while for her mother to be cleared to work on the line making FEDRA's uniforms – she had been head of the other, coverall-making line up until quite recently.

Yet even if she had to pull quite a few strings to keep her daughter close to her on that floor, Marlene would've much rather not had anything to do with those blue shirts. Still, she drew an ounce of comfort that her mother could've had something to do with making the clothes on her back – a really small ounce that barely made a difference to how uncomfortable they were to wear, and Marlene hastened to pull down her front zipper as she pushed the trolley into corridor exiting the production floor.

She wasn't doing it to cool herself down, though. The corridor was dank and unlit, out of sight of Dawson, and indeed any of the other workers. As such, it was the only place where she could reach into her trolley for two sets of shirts and pants, which she quickly shoveled inside her coveralls, before zipping it up fully and doing up her collar again.

Marlene wasn't the nervous sort usually, but the sweat forming on her head as she exited the corridor had little to do with the even more stifling packing and loading bay of the factory. The bundles were packed in the same numbers; she was banking a lot on the hope that packers wouldn't notice, or wouldn't care. It was a fairly safe bet, but even as she started unloading the bundles, she couldn't help feeling a little unease at the situation.

And more than a little resentment at the confluence of circumstance that had put her in that situation.

* * *

><p><em>25 April 2015, Dawn<em>

Its hands had been showing the time, but Marlene didn't know where in the world the sun rose at eight past ten.

For a moment she briefly considered the notion that it _was_ mid-morning, and that the sunrise was just incredibly late. But the clock had simply stopped running, and the rising sun meant that she had been up all night. And although she was feeling the effect of that in earnest, she was also finding it difficult to get some rest despite the medic's orders.

Sore muscles found hard plastic as she lay back against the bench, and Marlene let out a winced hiss as she glanced at the clock again. It had stopped, but then again being able to tell the time did no one a lick of good in these places, so that was probably why no one had bothered with replacing its batteries.

Besides, that was also to be expected for a place that was running on a bare minimum of staff as it was. But the doctor seemed to run a tight enough ship regardless – the non-functioning clock aside, the white tiled floor was spotless, as were the white tiled walls. Gleaming white, like the light from the noisily buzzing fluorescent tubes on the ceiling, illuminating the covers on the gurneys parked off to the side of the room. Immaculately white, as was the respirator on the face of the nurse and the gown of the doctor.

White, everything in that damned place was white. A cold, stark white – as had been Nadine's face. But it already had been before they reached the clinic, for all colour and what strength that was left seemed to seep out of her friend's wound together with her blood, as Marlene limped her way through the alley with Nadine's arm draped over her shoulders, leaving the street, the patrol, and the firefight behind them.

They made it through a couple more blocks; a couple hundred yards – though it might as well have been a couple hundred miles for what it felt like, and for how long it took – before Marlene felt Nadine's breaths getting shallower even as her own were getting heavier, and the warm liquid seeping through her own shirt from Nadine's wound pressing against it. She was starting to realize, as she lay Nadine down again to hastily trim a leg off her jeans, that not getting her some medical attention was quickly becoming _not_ an option.

Even if she didn't fault Nadine for not wanting to go to a hospital, and even if she didn't know the specifics (the few times she tried prying had ended with incredible sulks), she knew all she needed to, at any rate – that Nadine had lost her entire family in one, to say nothing of her own experience. And so the idea had been to get her home; _home,_ the one place she had thought of, a little childishly, in her worsening panic. Her mother would've known what to do; she would've gotten them out of the mess…if only they had enough time!

For the life-sustaining liquid continued to ooze out of the laceration, even as tightly as Marlene bound the makeshift dressing was bound against her friend's waist, dyeing the blue denim a deep red. Slowly, certainly slower than without, but surely. And that had finally convinced Marlene to give the woman's insistent objections the short shrift. No, Marlene had decided, she would get Nadine to the nearest doctor – but she was sure that her friend wouldn't have approved of even this tiny clinic on a deserted street corner.

It was her first time in the place – indeed, trying to find it had been a struggle, or an even greater one than it already was with her load – and Marlene ran a palm across her face, as though it would wipe away the dirt of fatigue from it, wipe away the thoughts that wouldn't stop coursing through her head, and wipe away the throbbing pain inside. It didn't work, she found, as her sore, tired eyes swept the floor in front of her for the umpteenth time that evening – or rather, morning.

Not everything in the room was white, though. The floor's tiles weren't entirely white, not with the trails tracked around them. Her shirt wasn't white, not anymore. Neither were her shoes. And come to it, probably not the gurney Nadine was lying on, behind that door…

"You _really_ need to get some sleep."

The voice of the nurse – the sole nurse – whose blue boot covers came into her field of view, making the trio of colours on the floor strangely patriotic – broke into Marlene's consciousness, like a freight train slamming into a stalled car. At least, that was what it made her migraine feel like. She made a noise that was meant to be an agreeing hum of reply, which came out more as a grunt. But then, even raising her head to look at the medic took a deliberate effort on her part at that point.

The nurse was a woman, not that Marlene could tell from the muffled voice coming from behind the respirator. Not from the figure either, the baggy hazmat suit made it impossible to make that out. Marlene could tell the nurse was a woman, and that she had been up all night as well, because of her eyes.

"Test is negative," the nurse continued, flipping back the folded over pages of her clipboard, reading off a printout.

Marlene scratched at the band-aid on her arm absently, her gaze fixed on those eyes, which blinked back towards her as they observed her almost-complete lack of reaction. It was probably a sum-of-parts thing, for there were no particularly memorable features about those eyes, she thought. Simple almond shapes framed by short eyelashes and shallow double eyelids; the minimalist detail only served to draw attention to the deep hazel of the irises, which were especially accentuated by the catch lights gleaming off them. If the medic wasn't a she, then he would've been a really pretty-ass he. And she had just given Marlene some really, really good news by any measure.

But it wasn't what she had been waiting to hear all night, and it seemed that the medic realized that. She let out a sigh as she undid her respirator, and then folded back the hood of her suit, shaking her hair loose. And that caught Marlene's attention, because all else aside the medic was definitely a _she_; her hair had been tied into a slightly messy ponytail that'd been squished beneath the hood and respirator. Long hair, the colour of which was not too unlike the drying-out stains on Marlene's shirt. But more importantly, did the fool have a death wish? The nurse hadn't been through decontamination yet, and even if she was supposedly not infected, what about Nadine –

"Her too," added the nurse, the slight exasperation in her voice softened with the gentle, comforting smile on her face.

Marlene's shoulders slumped, an action borne out of relief and exhaustion in equal measure. That probably meant that she could finally get some rest, but that was still miles away from her mind at the moment.

"Can I see her now?"

"She's sleeping," said the nurse, shutting out a yawn with her clipboard. "But go ahead. I'll still need to handle these, it'll take a while…Doc's still in there, by the way."

The nurse gave a meaningful look at Marlene on her last sentence; it was safe to say that the doctor had been rather unenthusiastic over keeping his clinic open past curfew, and certainly he would be having some words with Marlene now that they had the time.

The doctor was hunched over a crash trolley when she entered the examination room, still tidying up the implements he'd just used. He glanced up on hearing Marlene's footsteps, and gave a grudging tilt of his head in acknowledgement; if she didn't know any better she would've expected the man to go "Ma'am" like his forbears of old. But she did, and she did know _him_ better, so the grunt he let out as well didn't faze her one bit. No, the old man, whose unimposing stature and soft voice belied a kindly demeanour, was as shrewd as they came.

"You girls kept me up all night," he grumbled, voice muffled beneath the respirator he still had on even if his hood was already folded back too. "Not in the way I'm used to, either. This is definitely outside of consultation hours."

But Marlene didn't have ears at the moment. Only eyes, and they definitely weren't for the small man in his unkempt, mostly-white overcoat.

"Wasn't easy," sighed the doctor, as Marlene stepped beside the gurney. "But she's tough as old boots, even if she doesn't look it."

Red had stained its sheets, as Marlene had thought. An IV needle ran from the arm to a packet hanging to her side, the ugly green plastic surrounds looking especially unwelcome on her friend's pale skin. Nadine's head lolled slightly with her mouth vaguely ajar, and were it not for the almost imperceptible ebb and flow of her chest, Marlene would've thought she wasn't breathing.

"Just in time too. You're lucky I'd been stayin' late," he continued.

They were. Nadine was in bad shape, even _after_ the doctor had patched her up.

"Can't even begin to imagine if a patrol decided to stop by tonight…"

Shrewd he may have been, but the doctor was never subtle, and it was even less so when he was trying to be. To the uninitiated it might've seemed like he was having a simple grouse after a grueling night, but Marlene knew her good customer well.

"Okay," she began, defeat permeating her every word. "How much is this gonna cost me?"

"I don't know," the doctor said in a tone of innocence, head shaking as he continuing his tidying up. "I leave these things to Johnson out there mostly. But I'm sure it's a fair margin, same as you two."

His use of Nadine's favoured term was deliberately ironic, and so being able to see the bitchiness of karma unfold before her eyes was a special kind of kick in the gut for Marlene, but she kept her face impassive.

"I don't have any cards for the moment, but you know I'll have some quickly enough."

Marlene's offer was a tentative step – it was still a negotiation after all, ain't over yet. Even if she wasn't offering much, or anything. She couldn't anyway; those robbers had made off with both their stock and their cards – something that had been a major point of contention when she'd limped into the place, shouting. And giving poor Johnson out there a frightful start, perhaps. But she was desperate. Which was why she also pulled out Nade's switchblade, which she was now fingering guiltily in her pocket, when the doctor had balked at taking them in, briefly.

The doctor seemed irritated, probably as he recalled the moment. But then he nodded; he probably had a proposal in mind already. After all, her credit with him ought to be good - not least because his credit with her was good.

"There's another way if you're interested," he offered.

"I'm not going on a date with you no matter how many times you ask," Marlene deadpanned, but quite seriously. How many times did the man need to be shot down before he got the hint? Not enough, evidently.

"There's an idea, now that you mention it." The doctor took his respirator off now, revealing a grin in his unshaven veneer. "But no, coupl'a guys I know are in need of some things."

"Haven't they tried the market?" asked Marlene, missing the rather glaringly obvious.

"It ain't the kind of stuff you could get there usually. And without her around, can't say I'm exactly sure…"

The doctor's voice trailed off as if he were still deciding on something, and his eyes bored into Marlene's, looking like he was evaluating her. Marlene met his stare in stony silence, and it eased after a few seconds as the Doctor glanced at his patient on the gurney, expression unreadable.

"But I reckon you'll figure a way," he had said finally.

* * *

><p><em>1 May 2015, Evening<em>

She had refused initially, right off the bat. Trading on the black market was common enough, and even their usual 'shine runs were relatively innocuous compared to what the doctor was asking of her. But because Nadine was lying on the gurney between them, because she would remain lying there for at least a few more days, and most importantly, because all of that had to be paid for one way or the other, she had acceded.

And so Marlene had obtained those uniforms over the week she'd been working at the factory. And she did it professionally – or at least to her mind, it was. The first two days were spent scoping out the routine of the place, planning how she would get the things out of there without being arrested on the spot or at the checkpoints.

She would've thought that she'd be calmer about it by now, but she wasn't. But at least her hands had stopped shaking, unlike the first day – it had drawn a small glance from the sentry, but the duty sergeant hadn't noticed it, thankfully. But she was confident that she'd covered her tracks well enough, and the doctor had been pleased to see her returns, even on that first day.

"_FEDRA, huh?_" he had said. "_That's even better, 'cause I was thinkin' military would do fine enough…hell, never thought I'd ever say that._"

Two outfits on that first day, two on the next day, and two on this final day made for a total of six, which was what the doctor ordered. All of which she had just dropped off. And he may have been chuckling as he said it, but Marlene had exactly a place in mind where he could shove those uniforms and his damned drawl as she continued her brisk journey between his apartment and his clinic. She still didn't know what they were for, but then she really didn't want to know – all that mattered was that she would finish paying the doctor off, and hopefully it'd all be back to normal.

Yet she couldn't deny that, in a world where a young woman of twenty-two found employment as a black-market trader, and was dropping off stolen government outfits for a doctor, 'normal' was becoming increasingly difficult to define.

Nurse Johnson was at her usual station of the reception, fulfilling one of her multiple roles as always, when Marlene entered the clinic. The doctor may have been home already, in close observance of FEDRA's policy, but she had kept it open each night of that week past curfew, and definitely past her own working hours. Extended visiting hours for her sole patient, and the sole visitor. It was nothing short of kind, even if her manner didn't show it.

"About time," she said. It'd become almost a greeting between them; she was taking a risk by keeping the clinic open too. "Go on, she's looking better today."

'Better' was difficult to define too, because the sleeping Nade that Marlene saw was still mostly as pale as she had been a week ago. She had been awake for brief moments, according to both the doctor and nurse – not that Marlene had been around for any of those, not with her work hours.

For some reason, the sight made it difficult for Marlene to breathe that instant. And then she didn't have the faintest idea why she was holding her head in her hands, which started getting wet. But it was also a sum of parts thing, probably. Nothing overly major in and of themselves, but every bit of the past week added up to a load on her shoulders that she found too much to bear right then.

She couldn't even stop herself when she heard the footfalls of the nurse beside her, even with the pang of embarrassment heating up her wet face. So stupid, she must've heard her. And she didn't want to be seen anything like that.

"Shh," the nurse hushed, holding an arm over Marlene, patting her back soothingly, "it's okay…"

But it wasn't. Marlene couldn't see how any of it was. Even if none of it was her fault, objectively. And even if she'd just finished with paying it back. She didn't know why, but it just was.

"C'mon," the nurse urged, helping Marlene to her feet firmly. "Let's get something in you first. You haven't eaten, right?"

Perhaps that was why. Having went straight from the factory to the doctor's apartment, and then immediately to the clinic after that, Marlene hadn't had any time to get any dinner in her. A reason as mundane as they came, but no less valid. Marlene allowed herself to be led to what was probably a pantry, where the nurse sat her down at a small table. She wasn't looking – her hands were still shielding her face, more so that the nurse wouldn't see it – but she heard the sounds of cutlery being moved about. Only after a few minutes, along with the thud of a mug before her, did Marlene calm down enough to remove her hands.

"You really look like you need this."

It'd been a while since her last mug of that, and she did. Marlene took the mug gratefully in her hands and wafted in the nutty aroma; already a tad stale, but still ever so good. A luxury that even she and Nadine seldom indulged in, no sugar or milk to adulterate the comfort of its bitterness - coffee. The nurse took it the same way, but the micro-grimaces she gave on each sip told Marlene that her taking it straight was more down to frugality than preference.

"Right…" she said, her breathing easing up at last. "Listen, thanks."

"Don't worry, it's Doc's. He can well afford this stuff," the nurse grinned, misunderstanding Marlene.

"I meant for this whole week. You didn't have to do this. You'll be in a world of shit if you get caught…"

"Hey, forget about it. Look – Nadine's hard stuff, she'll be fine."

Marlene nodded, even if it seemed strange to her that the nurse was talking like she'd known Nade for years.

"Well, thanks for this also, then," she said, raising the mug.

"_Forget_ about it," repeated the nurse. "What's it among old schoolmates, right?"

Marlene could only stare back blankly. _Schoolmates?_

"We probably only met a few times. Remember those post-exam drink nights?"

The honest answer was 'yes'…broadly. Which was to say that Marlene remembered that those times must've occurred, but she remembered more of their after effects than the actual nights. She blamed Nadine then. And even now.

She nodded her head anyway, hoping that would do.

The nurse's eyes narrowed. "You don't remember me, do you?" she asked suspiciously.

Marlene honest answer was 'no'.

"Sure I do," she said calmly, hoping that would suffice, but the nurse's bullshit-o-meter was inconveniently sharp.

"Go on, what's my name then?" the nurse continued, with something like displeasure crossing her face.

"Johnson, of course."

"My _first_ name, genius."

Why was she taking it so seriously? Marlene hemmed with a silly grin, trying to look as if she was playing her (it didn't seem to work; the nurse's eyebrows continued to furrow as she raised her own mug to her lips) whilst racing furiously through the archives of her mind for the answer.

What was it, something like Joan…no, it starts with an 'A', she could vaguely recall. Ashley…Allie…Amy…

The redhead's eyes were fixed on Marlene as she sipped the coffee, and it was to Marlene's relief when she saw a lighthearted grin on her face as she placed the mug down.

"It's Anna, you dodo," she laughed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Finally, right? In more ways than one... Many apologies are in order for the delay in updating, so for all you wonderful people who have been following this - sorry, very much! :3 **


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